


Colored Gold

by bitterglitter



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Character Death, Emotional Baggage, Magnus Bane-centric, Multi, Multiple Soulmates, Past Abuse, Past Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt, mentions of magnus/ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterglitter/pseuds/bitterglitter
Summary: Behind them someone shouts and something crashes. Magnus’s gaze doesn’t flicker away from the ice in his glass. His fingers tighten around it."I can see it." She continues in her whisper, making Magnus feel like they’re the only ones in the bar at all. "It’s in your eyes. You, Magnus Bane, are a man full of far too much love."The many soulmates throughout Magnus' long life that leave him thinking he should stop looking for love, and the soulmate that convinces him to give it one more chance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> magnus bane deserves all the love in the world

Hair spun like gold and lips as pink as the sunset. Bright green eyes and nails that sparkled blue. Warm brown skin and hair blacker than ink. Every few centuries Magnus get small reminders and memories that flicker at him for just a moment, until fading back away. 

 

 

_ Soulmates,  _ his mother tells him under a cover of thick, humid summer darkness,  _ come once in a lifetime. With them they bring light and color. They return to you the half you are missing. You can’t see it now, but the world is colorful, and it can only be appreciated when you are whole. _

She gives a wet smile and he feels like he should say something back to her. But he is small and hasn’t seen enough of the world, hasn’t seen a shimmer of color, and has no words to offer. Pots and pans clatter from outside the door and they both go silent, waiting until the only thing they hear is soft unison of buzzing of bugs. She holds him tight and his small hands grip her shirt, desperately wanting her closer. 

He watches a drop of sweat slide down his arm. When it hits the bed she lets out a shaky breath. He expects her to relax, but instead she pulls him closer, pressing him into her with trembling arms and long fingers that cup the back of his head. She pulls him closer until all he knows is the rough fabric of her shirt and the sweet smell of his mother. 

As time goes on they spend most nights like this. 

He slowly gets taller, from a small toddler to a small child. Small, small, small, but ever bigger. His mother talks more and more of soulmates as he sees less and less of his father. 

He asks her the color of fruits and fabrics. She tells him of yellows and greens and blues. He asks the neighbors who tell him of reds and oranges and browns. He can’t tell who is lying. It all looks the same to him. 

People give them odd, distasteful looks as they walk down the street, his mother and father walking hand in hand. As his legs grown longer and his hair falls into his eyes he begins to notice. Then his mother trims his hair and he notices even more. Their eyes are accusing, burning with something red and hot that burns to look at. With him, though, their eyes are sad. Weeping with an apathetic pity, whispering behind cupped hands. 

_ Why doesn’t your mother match your clothes right?  _ They ask as they corner him at markets.  _ Why does she always pick up someone else’s bag? Her’s is clearly colored different.  _ They demand when his mother leaves him outside a store to talk to the owner.  _ Does your mother even have a soulmate?  _ Some kids ask, stopping by his house on their way to others. 

_ Did your mother have a soul?  _ He hears his father growl, tipping back a dark liquid, two days after finding an empty house and a bloody ()

His father often demands this of him when he isn’t yelling about his eyes. His eyes, his eyes, his  _ eyes.  _ Yelling how they’re unnatural things, works of the devil that have cursed this family.  _ I don’t know about my eyes!  _ He wants to shout. He wants to yell he doesn’t even know the difference between brown and gold, how is he supposed to control how they look? He doesn’t say. He doesn’t yell. He only stares at his reflection, watching grey eyes reflected as black pupils shift until they’re longer. 

He looks like a cat. They all have grey eyes too. 

He doesn’t know what gold eyes look like. Or brown ones. He doesn’t know the color of water, even as he’s acquainted with it at close range. He doesn’t know the color his father turns when he stops moving. He’s heard people’s faces change color, but it still looks just as grey as the day before. 

After that he tries not to wonder if his mother has a soulmate or even just a soul. He tries not to wonder if he does. 

 

 

When he meets her his name is Magnus and he forgets what it was before.

Her hair is golden, but in a soft, beautiful way. Not in one that glows and threatens. It flows down to her shoulders in soft waves and her lips stretch into smiles that can light up this now colored world even more. She cried when they met. He cried harder. 

They explore together. 

They explore each other. Wondering how to find out every possible thing you can about your soulmate and if you do, will you feel more complete? They explore the world around them. Trying to match color to name, making wild guesses only to, mostly, end up completely wrong. Teasing each other when only one of them gets it right. They explore love. Seeing how hard and fast they can fall for each other, and how they can help the other do the same along the way. 

Magnus hasn’t thought of his mother’s words in years. He hasn’t let himself. One must have a soul to have a soulmate, and given his mother’s actions and father’s words he was destine to no soul. No other half. 

But she is proof. Proof that the love Magnus feels is real and that he can be completed. That he isn’t broken or damned, no matter who screams the words at him. She is his other half, proof that the mortal blood running through him isn't overpowered by the demonic. 

He loves her and she loves him. They complete each other, making themselves and the world around them whole in a way they never thought possible. He wants to marry her, keep her forever. With tears as thick and heavy as they day the met, she says yes. 

And then she dies. 

Magnus finally knows the color people turn when they stop moving, but he takes no mind to it as he clutches her in his arms. Too young, too young, they’ve barely started living, barely started loving, and then suddenly she’s limp in his arms. Her hair still flows, but her lips no longer smile and Magnus watches as the color bleeds away from both of them. 

He buries her in black and white. It storms for two weeks after. Magnus will only feel bad about the intense flooding a decade later, when he believes he can feel again. 

Two centuries later he can no longer remember the face of his both her and his mother. 

 

 

Magnus meets him when he’s still grieving. Storms have stopped following him everywhere, drawn in by the intense magic that flows through his veins. Yet, he still can feel the cracks in his chest when he thinks of her. When he thinks of how he lost her and how he continues to everyday.

Eternity gives you quite a while to forget about someone. Can you even forget a soulmate? 

And then it’s the middle of winter and Magnus’ first time in Europe. Visiting for a job, flattered that word of his work has spread across continents already. It wouldn’t be so bad if the man paying wasn’t the biggest pain Magnus has ever had to work for. Honestly, he’s about to just give up, pack his bags, and head on home. Even this isn’t worth the high rates he’s already charging. 

And then he walks in and Magnus hardly has to glance at him before his heart his aching and color is bleeding back into his vision. It isn’t like it was before, colors he had no name for come to him like second nature. Blue eyes. Light brown hair. His cherry shirt and grey pants. Each new color is like a familiar friend. 

He walks and doesn’t even glance at Magnus, too preoccupied with the papers in his hands. The way he walks is confident, back straight and head up, and he maintains perfect eye contact as he splits the piles of papers and gives half to Magnus’ client. Then he spins on his heel, ready to make his way back out of the room -- Magnus panics, wondering if he’ll be able to find him again -- when he finally makes eye contact with Magnus and the papers scatter to the floor. 

His posture slumps and his mouth opens like a gaping fish.  _ Very attractive,  _ Magnus thinks, but doesn’t dare say with company in the room. 

Magnus’ client says something and the man snaps out of it, looking strictly at the floor as he scrambles to pick up his papers. Magnus wants to laugh. At the ridiculous situation or the absurdity of the idea that Magnus has more than one soulmate he isn’t sure. But he keeps it in, instead letting his lips stretch into a small smile. 

The man quickly leaves. Magnus finishes the job in record time and almost forgets to ask for payment. Outside of the house the man is waiting and Magnus wants to cry again. 

It isn’t like before. This is new and fresh, but it isn’t a new concept. Magnus already knows how it feels to fall in love, though he can admit that this time feels slightly different, and he already knows all the colors. His soulmate, though, does not. He also does not know that Magnus is a Warlock destined to never age. 

So Magnus acts like he’s in the same position than before. He pretends not to know the names of colors, making sure his soulmate gets it right more than he does. . He acts like he doesn’t know what color goes with what, matching together horrendous outfits for his soulmate just to get a laugh out of him. 

It’s the same but it’s also so different. 

Before Magnus didn’t have to keep his relationship behind closed doors. The environment that surrounds them, while new for Magnus, clearly does not allow for this kind of affection between two men. Magnus hadn’t even been really aware that two men could be soulmates, even if he had been able to appreciate the looks of other men. 

To the outside eye they are two neighbors, close friends. But one space is empty while they both occupy the other. Holding hands and kissing with the shutters closed. They don’t think of getting married, they can’t. 

And then a decade has passed and Magnus hasn’t aged a day. He finally relieves the truth about his origin a month after their anniversary. He’s never done this before, not with someone so important and someone so mortal. In response he gets a silent nothing and pretends not to notice the look in his soulmate's eyes. 

Three days later he finds there are special clinics for people who don’t have soulmates or for ones whose soulmates are dead. He finds that not everyone who goes there has a dead soulmate. Suddenly their house just holds Magnus and the world turns black and white as his heart breaks. 

 

 

The next one is another man, a Seelie that is not constrained by the social norm of mundanes. He has bright purple hair and dark brown eyes. He’s shy, hard to make smile, and his voice sounds like honey. He too dies too young.

 

 

An older woman crossing the street. Her hair is tied back too tight but her expression is loose. She’s on the arm of another man and doesn’t even look Magnus’ way.

 

 

A werewolf girl. Wild and free and wanting to travel anywhere and everywhere. She gets cornered by a rogue Shadowhunter on a midnight walk and Magnus never sees her again.

 

 

All of them are eventually lost. Unable to stay completely permanent in a mind stuck in forever.  They have names, but they taste bitter on the tongue. They have no complete faces, only blurred aspects that later Magnus will hope he remembers correctly.

 

 

Nat is Magnus’ first American boy. He’s blissfully mundane and young, looking at the world with wide eyes and eager to experience all of it. They spend spring and summer nights together and Magnus learns to appreciate the New World’s new air. Nat makes Magnus feels like he’s as young as he looks.

After decades of heartbreak Magnus allows himself to believe this time it will last. It’s been too long, he’s lost too many other halfs. The universe has to let it work out one time, otherwise it wouldn’t keep presenting options. Right?

It’s approaching chilled nights of fall when Nat comes to visit Magnus. Eyes no longer wide and warm, but cold and tired. He says his parents have arranged a marriage and all the colors around him start to dim. 

At the wedding everything goes black and white. 

 

 

Ragnor tells him that immortals should not be given soulmates. It’s a cruel fate stacked on another. Magnus doesn’t remember much else. He’s too busy downing drink after drink.

 

 

 

Sometimes Magnus gets flashes of colors. Brief and dizzying. He doesn’t know what it means. 

 

 

 

_ Warlocks,  _ he’s told by a woman whose voice is too old for her young face (how did she even get in the bar?),  _ and soulmates are a terrible mix.  _ She swirls her own glass around, liquid threatening to tip over the edge.  _ I’ve only met one couple who are both immortal. And I’ve met far too many warlocks.  _

_ Is it possible to have more than one?  _ Magnus asks over a glass of strong smelling liquor, leaning forward from his seat on his elbows. The bar around them is a mess, loud and noisy patrons throwing themselves over everything. Magnus wouldn’t be surprised if it was the smell of the alcohol alone that got them drunk.  

She smiles at him. Her bangs and her skin are both almost black in his vision, making her features blur if she tilts her head just right.  _ Sometimes. I hope you’re not asking out of experience, young one.  _

Magnus wants to shout that he’s centuries old, that makes him plenty old, thank you very much. Instead he shrugs and takes another sip. 

_ I have heard of a few. I’ve also heard of warlocks that only have one. It’s especially hard when they’re one is mortal. An eternity of black and white.  _ She shudders and pushes her bangs out of her face. He can see her features again. How strong is this alcohol? 

Which would be better? He wants to know. An eternity of black and white or an eternity of loss? 

_ And what does your eternity look like?  _ Magnus finds himself asking instead. 

A slow grey grin stretches across her face. It looks like it’s been carved into her features. The pleasant buzz from his drink keeps him from flinching.  _ Quite similar to yours I imagine. _

_ You don’t know what mine looks like.  _

_ I know loneliness when I see it.  _

Magnus clamps his mouth shut and turns away. Perhaps, he considers as he brings the cool glass up to his lips, conversing with strangers at a bar isn’t something he should continue doing. The results just seem to get worse and worse each time he does. 

She laughs, leaning over and pressing her front against his arm. The bar is already warm, but she feels like she runs hot, sticking to him where they touch. Her grin is stretched as far as it will go but her eyes are narrowed. She tilts her head so it rests on his shoulder, lips a hair from brushing against his ear.  _ Want me to tell you a secret? _

Behind them someone shouts and something crashes. Magnus’s gaze doesn’t flicker away from the ice in his glass. His fingers tighten around it. 

_ I can see it.  _ She continues in her whisper, making Magnus feel like they’re the only ones in the bar at all.  _ It’s in your eyes. You, Magnus Bane, are a man full of far too much love.  _

_ I don’t recall telling you my name.  _ Her words seep into his body, into his soul, but he does not look away. 

He can feel her shrug.  _ You don’t have to. You’re quite well known, and it’s not hard to recognize you.  _ He can feel her gaze flicker up and down his grand attire.  _ Secrets come with a price, though. Be careful. Soulmates aren’t always a good thing. _

_ And how would you know?  _ Magnus’ tone is much too harsh. He thinks of happy crying, hands held in the dark, and midnight walks. He’s consumed. For a blink of the eye. 

_ Experience.  _ Her voice is sweet as sugar. Her fingernails dig into his arm before she’s completely gone. Walking into the small crowd like smoke and dissipating just as fast. Magnus downs the rest of his drink.

 

 

It’s like a pattern by now. Walk alone for decades, fall completely in love, have his heart broken, rinse, and repeat. He should honestly be used to it now, understand the warning sounds for falling in and out. But each time it’s like a slap in the face. A fresh, stinging feeling that only feels familiar after it fades.

This time, though, it doesn’t feel like something as simple as a slap. Of course it couldn’t. Camille would never settle for something so plain. 

No, instead she has to dig her nails into his heart and claw it apart piece by piece. 

She walks in with a flourish, sucking up all the attention in the room for herself in not even a way that Magnus can. She demands to have it all without saying a word and gets it by just crossing the threshold. She smiles at Magnus like a cobra looking at it’s prey. He doesn’t realize this, instead taking in how red her dress is. 

They dance all night and Magnus forgets to ask if Camille can see the colors he can. He doesn’t think to, honestly. He assumes they’re looking at the same golden room. 

Camille loves fiercely at first. Dragging him in, introducing him to the world of Vampires in a way he hasn’t had the opportunity to see before. He’s met important figures, he’s still friends with a small handful, but he hasn’t seen their hidden culture up front. Hasn’t heard their whispered opinions on other Downworlders, generalized or specified -- they don’t say anything about Warlocks, so he forgets to think about it. He already knew their opinions about mundanes, but knowing it and experience it are two very different things. 

He’s drunk. Drunk off love, drunk off power, drunk off neglect. 

Camille is right, he finds. Mundanes really don’t have much to offer if you think about it, if you compare it. Short lives without much impact, she’s  _ right.  _ It’s so easy to look down all the way up here with her on his arm. He’s a High Warlock, Prince of Hell, why should he care? 

He stops his work mostly. Instead he spends his time with Camille, traveling with her and showing themselves off. Now he only works for prices that he’s sure royalty could only afford. Several try. 

Every time she smiles he falls more and more. She smiles often. She stays close, pressed up against him more than they both know is acceptable. It sends a thrill through Magnus and he falls more. The light in her eyes is dim, but to Magnus it glows. 

He buys her a ruby. Sells his town house and buys her the most expensive ruby he can find, knowing Camille’s taste in blood mirrors hers in gifts. Expensive, rare, hard to obtain. Nothing simple will satisfy her. Camille has never had as soulmate some Vampires whisper to him. Her standards are too high to fall in love. Magnus doesn’t think about if he believes the rumors or not. Surely someone must have fallen in love with her and vice versa, right? 

The thought that he is so special makes his chest feel like it to burst. 

He’s the happiest he can remember himself in centuries. Being in love without the creeping trickle of time breathing down his lover’s neck is a welcome relief. Now he can let himself fall completely. Others tell him he’s changed, but isn’t that good? Happiness that won’t ultimately come at a cost. A soulmate that can last as many lifetimes that Magnus lasts, love and happiness for eternity. It’s a feeling that he grips tightly in both hands, keeping close and safe to his chest. 

And then it all crumbles. 

In the middle of the night Magnus can’t even remember what the man looked like. Across the rim of a bottle of alcohol he can picture Camille’s smile, though. It was the same one she wore when Magnus first asked her to dance. 

_ What?  _ She had asked, tilting her head in confusion. As if this could be at all confusing.  _ He’s just a cute little human. Besides, it isn’t like we promised ourselves to each other.  _

Magnus had sputtered something about soulmates, how they had when they had seen the colors. How he loved her. How he was about to propose. She had laughed. She hadn’t even laughed hard, instead it was a fast, soft one. Like a response to a casual passing comment, not even worth the time to fully think about. 

_ You can see colors? How quaint.  _

They had stood in a garden. A warm spring night, soft lights surrounded them courtesy of Magnus. He had planned everything. The night that would lead to his permanent happiness forever. And she laughed. Now he’s on a roof, legs dangling off the side, with his back pressed against Ragnor’s shoulder. 

It had been the three of them earlier posing for a picture. He can still remember the soft jokes shared between them about the tedious process. Magnus teased Ragnor about his posture. 

Now it’s just him and Ragnor. He’s not sure where Camille is. 

_ Making her way down to hell.  _ Ragnor’s voice is casual even as his words are sharp. Magnu didn’t realize he had spoken out loud.  _ That’s no concern of ours now anyway.  _

Magnus shrugs and brings the bottle up to his lips. He tips it back, only to find it completely empty. Softly, he makes a noise of displeasure. Where had all this liquor gone? He was sure he had just summoned it from his home in Germany… No matter. He brings his hand up, ready to snap his fingers and have something appear -- preferably something stronger and in a larger bottle. 

_ Best not, my friend.  _ Ragnor’s tone is much more gentle as he reaches up and slowly pulls Magnus’ hand out of the air.  _ Two bottles is enough for the night. We’re already up here due to the first.  _

Magnus nose wrinkles with the memory that had been drowned in liquor. Wanting to die with the death of his love. Perhaps Ragnor has been right, he is a  _ tad  _ dramatic. Ragnor doesn’t need to know he’s right, though. It’d do horrible things for his ego. Not like Magnus can talk, he amends as he brings the bottle to cradle to his chest. He remembers the label being dark green. It’s slowly fading into a duller and duller color. 

His heart may be broken, but apparently not all of him has gotten the memo. 

_ Why do I keep doing this?  _ He whispers, turning his head to press into Ragnor’s shoulder. 

_ Because you care far too much. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t care though.  _

It feels like some sort of offhand jab at Magnus. He’ll figure it out later.  _ Maybe I shouldn’t. Soulmates  _ **_do_ ** _ only happen once. Maybe I should keep it like that.  _

He can feel Ragnor roll his eyes, but he still turns his head down to make sure Magnus can see how. They’re both rather dramatic. The perfect pair.  _ You have too much love in you. And as annoying as that can be- _

_ Excuse me? _

_ -it is a part of you. Accept it.  _

It’s sound advice. Magnus makes a noise of agreement, leaning forward to he can press his damp face against Ragnor’s neck. For his part, Ragnor doesn’t complain. They stay like that until the dark night sky turns into a light grey color. 

 

 

Etta is the last. She has to be. She will be. 

Magnus swears this as he watches the light blue edges of her dress fray into a grey tinted tone. Slowly, ever so slowly the color has faded. It’s never been this slow before. It’s the closest he’s ever felt to how Mundanes describe feeling the effect of aging time on their shoulders. With each passing day he feels the effect, as if he is actually aging along with those around him. 

That’s impossible, though. His face is as young as when this all started. The only difference is his eyes. He can’t remember what they looked like with the spark of youth in them, but now they just look tired. Worn down. Eroded away into the person he is today. 

Magnus shuts the closet with a flick of his wrist. He really should return her dress, but Etta has made it clear that she doesn’t want to see Magnus again. Too painful for the both of them, she had said. 

She’s probably right. Maybe he should just thrown the dress out. 

The thought causes his chest to ache and he banishes it away. 

He isn’t sure how she had managed to forget it. She had been through in the rest of their small apartment, every other trace of her gone. Even spots clear of dust where object once stood are gone. That had been weeks ago, yet he still finds himself looking. 

Only a handful of years. He had had relationships that were much shorter, painfully shorter, but this time it was different. Memories of those gone too soon linger, but the memory is Etta is still too fresh. It still hurts too much to think about. Ragnor said he’s acting like he’s mourning. For once Magnus agrees. 

They had been in love. Magnus had been in love with so many others, but this time it felt so much different. Maybe it was the desperate hope that this time would work out. Maybe it was the fact that Etta wasn’t repulsed by Magnus’ secret. Instead, she loved it, embraced it. Maybe it’s because she was the first after Camille. Maybe it was just because she was Etta. 

Magnus can’t tell. He doesn’t want to know. It doesn’t matter now why it hurts so much, just that it does. 

He spins on his heel and walks out of their- his bedroom. The once bright curtains look rusted and brown couch looks like it’s yellowing. The white of the countertops and window sill is brighter than he could’ve sworn it was yesterday. He sits down on the couch and snaps his fingers, a glass easily falling into his hand. Suddenly he remembers the night Camille broke his heart and downs the glass. 

This is different than that night. For one, it’s been weeks since Etta left. And she hadn’t laughed when Magnus said he loved her, but instead kissed him and told him the same. They had been happy, actually happy in the life they shared. They still were, those handful of weeks ago.

Magnus can’t help but wonder what had changed. 

He’s gone over the events countless times in his memories, trying to figure out what was the final straw that made Etta leave. What caused her to give up on all of this? Was it the letter she had gotten from her sister asking if she wanted her nephews to visit on her birthday in the next two months? Had they passed by one too many happy couples with a child on their hip? 

_ There’s only a few things I really want, but… We know you can’t give those to me. _

He wants to be angry. Bitter. Resentful. With Camille it was so easy to give into those knee-jerk emotions. But that was mainly because Camille had  _ deserved _ a reaction like that. He knows he can’t really blame Etta. He knows it’s not really her fault. That she stayed with him as long as she possibly could. 

Still, it stings to think about. 

He remembers Ragnor’s advice, no matter how blurred some of the specifics may have become in the wake of a terrible hangover. It had been good advice, and after a bit of healing after Camille, he was ready to attempt to embrace soulmates again. Mortality may steal his love in the end, but loving and being loved in returned was something that felt impossible to give up. 

And Etta had loved him. Does. He has to keep reminding himself. 

But this time feels too final. The last nail on the coffin. A high of love can’t be worth the withdrawal after, it’s slowly killing him as if heroine instead of colors. He can feel it strangle his heart. 

Etta. Etta is a good place to end, he thinks as he summons a refill for his glass. She was perfect in every way for him, and while he may not have been completely perfect for her their love for each other had always been the same for the other. Strong. Comforting. Encompassing. If they can’t work out…

Magnus can’t imagine it working out with anyone else. 

Casual flings sound alright. But, no, wait. He’s not even sure those could work. It’s a terrifying thing to go to bed with someone in the middle of the night and wake up to colored bedsheets. If he was to do those he’d have to stick to one night, waking up before the other. Even if he does see colors… well, if they wake up alone the color should fade rather quickly. 

No relationships. No bounds. No threat. No worries. 

“Sounds nice.” Magnus whispers, voice dull. He wishes he could make himself sound more sincere. He’ll have to practice. When he no doubt will have to tell his friends he’s stopped his search for a soulmate, he’ll have to sound wholehearted and in complete belief of his new choice. If he doesn’t he’ll have to suffer through them picking and picking at his decision until he crumbles and gives in to what they see as right. 

HIm looking for a soulmate isn’t the right thing to do. It’s not. Maybe before, when he was a young child with a healthy heart it was. Centuries of pain tends to take some resilience to some things away. 

Plenty of warlocks don’t have soulmates anyway, he reminds himself. They get along just fine. He’s used to operating in a colorless world. He can match his clothes, recognize potions from shades of grey, and use his memory to match color to everyday objects. He’ll be fine. Better than fine. Able to completely operate without any anxiety. Perfect. 

By the time nightfall hits he’s downed a bottle and a half.

 

 

In the years since Etta he’s only got hints of color left on the edges of his vision, clinging to his sight out of a love he knows should be dead but his heart wholly can’t let go. 

It had been a really bad idea. 

Magnus had known from the moment he got notice of the party that going would be a horrible idea. There had been rumors circling for months as to when it would happen, but by the time set dates reached Magnus’ ears his spot was set in stone. He was not to leave these warlocks on their own, not with him being the only High Warlock in reach in a distance too long and with Valentine actively hunting them all down. Thus, he was regretful to admit that he would be unable to attend for the first time in years. 

And then that fucking fire message from the New York Institute, promising his ruby back. While his love for Camille may have died over a century ago, one does not let a ruby like that go to waste. Especially with how much he paid. And the fact that it was a perfectly safe excuse to get it out of the clutches of the Lightwoods? Made the deal even better. 

But then it had all gone south. Of course Valentine’s men had found them. He never should have left, never should have shown up. It would’ve been safer for everyone. He should have listened to Elias. 

He didn’t, though. 

It takes just a flash, half a second. An arrow gracefully twisting through the crowd to strike down a circle member behind him --  _ how hadn’t he noticed?  _ Another Shadowhunter appears from the shadows, bow in hand. Something about him drags Magnus’ gaze to follow as he passes, his vision flairs at the edges as he watches this Shadowhunter bend down to inspect the circle member. 

Something fills Magnus’ chest -- panic? Fear? The terrifying realization that he’s trapped in a cycle doomed to repeat on forever? Yes. But also, something warm. Something lying dormant that sings of color and hope. Ice cold reality washes over it, freezing him in place. 

“ _ Who  _ are you?” Magnus manages to choke out, watching the Shadowhunter turn, flipping his blade through the air and effortlessly catching it. 

Magnus flees into his portal; running from the circle, running from the horrors Shadowhunters bring with them, running from reality. His portal is purple by the time he steps into it. 

From that moment on, Magnus isn’t sure what to expect. Finding his soulmate, there’s always been a pattern to it. He’s often found comfort in it, knowing that no matter what there’s always a way these things go, even if the end is always unclear. But, it’s different this time. Downworlders and Mundanes are one thing, but to fall in love with someone born in the prejudice, arrogant ways of Shadowhunters? Magnus would have laughed at the idea just a decade ago. 

He hopes this Shadowhunter --  _ Alec, his name is Alexander  _ \-- is like the others. But even before he learns of his last name, something that no doubt would have solidified Magnus’ beliefs, he seems to be completely different. 

He smiles, actually smiles at Magnus the first time they actually get to talk, and the terror in his eyes put Magnus on an edge, it becomes hard to blame him after actually summoning the memory demon. He stutters -- actually full on stutters when Magnus so much as smiles at him, it’s hard not to find it endearing. He shares his power with Magnus, actually talks to him like a person, and even comfortably falls asleep on his couch. He only ever seems uncomfortable with him around others, but when you surround yourself and your same sex soulmate in a community completely against it, soulmate or not be damned, it’s not hard to understand where he comes from. 

The hope that Magnus tried to bury the first night grows, it grows and blooms in his chest so fast he knows he should be terrified. A small part of him is, but another part remembers falling in love. A part of him that wants to do it again. Magnus Bane having a Shadowhunter for a soulmate sounds like bad joke, but the more he spends around Alexander the more he can feel himself opening up. 

_ You’ve unlocked something in me.  _

But then it breaks, then all of Magnus’ fears prove right and he knows that he should have left soulmates with Etta. Marriage, a solid partnership, a family man. Each passing word dulls Magnus’ colors and when he walks away the world blurs. Because the change to black and white is happening so slow, he tells himself, and refuses to acknowledge the stinging wetness of his eyes. 

After that, every time he sees Alec it’s another crack in his heart. Another hue lost. The case, the bow, the mistake of a meeting. 

Alec’s harsh words still ring in his head, hours later, after his heart suffers another break. He needs to talk, he  _ needs  _ someone to talk to. He’s never been good at being alone, a curse that can only be remedied by another. Catarina he knows is busy, mostly from her not so subtle fire message sent just a week ago, and he knows Raphael has his own slew of issues on his plate. They had already spoken earlier anyway, it’s not like he can waste all their time. Before he’d be dialing his phone to call-

Maybe he’s losing his mind. Maybe soulmates are a blessing for mortals but a curse of warlocks, a punishment that he isn’t sure what they’ve done to deserve. His heart can’t take anymore and clearly, given that the very much dead Ragnor is still somehow providing advice, his head can’t either. He’s so lonely that his head has to make up the presence of others just for a small amount of comfort. 

The liquid in his glass has turned grey. 

Over a century ago Ragnor had given good, frustrating but unarguably helpful, advice. Magnus hopes this version of Ragnor is real, a ghost using his last bit of self to help an old friend. Thinking about it makes it seem even more unlikely, but he has to hope that it actually is Ragnor and not something his emotionally exhausted mind has come up with. Because while Magnus may be good at providing advice to others, he’s always somehow been distinctly horrible at providing good advice for himself. 

And as he walks into the Institute, unsure if it’s too late or not, this seems more and more like horrible advice. 

The church is tones of grey and white. 

But when Alexander walks down the aisle and kisses him, the next time he opens his eyes he finds the church around him colored gold.

**Author's Note:**

> happy malec kiss anniversary


End file.
